Brought to you by the letter D

D is for disaster, Darren* and dope. Dumbass and dickweed and dumbhead also.

You like my little rhyme :)

Anyways.... I was in his shiny new office this afternoon. Ooh preamble to story. Yesterday or the day before, I went by his shiny new office with windows and a door and he was complaining how cavernous and lonely it was so I sniped at him, "oh excuse me I only have to share a cave-icle with junior staff!" and walked away.

So today, I was sitting in his shiny new office talking about actual work stuff. I think he doesn't like when I come to see him because I always give him a list of things to do. At least I friggin' have the courtesy of going downstairs to see him in person when I want/need something unlike him. He just drops an email. Jerkwad. Anyway, when he saw that I got to what he thought was the penultimate item on my list (shortly after he flicked an elastic at me), he cupped his hands around his mouth and said, "can I buy you dinner some time?"

I said, "no, we're done, thank you very much" and walked out of there. He tried to stop me by saying that I had one more item but that was for blondie and I had just forgotten to check off the box. Friggin idiot. I looked HOT today. So hot that some random woman stopped me on Yonge Street to tell me.

"Girl, nice shoes!" I said thanks but secretly wondered if this was your crazy religious woman freak who tries to convert people via clothing compliments. But no, she was genuine crazy. After I told her they were on sale at Sterling, she proceeded to tell me that she couldn't pull them off because she doesn't have nice calves. "But girl, you have good calves. Those shoes make them look all long and straight and.... mmm you look good! Did you used to be a dancer? Yeah honey I can tell!"

That's how good I looked. So I guess I can't truly fault him for being sucked into my awesomeness. He is a very weak man, after all.

I sent him this email when I left work. He probably won't get it for a few days.

I deleted your phone number but this is a little too long for a text anyway.

Please don't ever ask me out to dinner at the office again. You have made it very clear to me that you only want one thing from me and your offer of dinner is so transparent that even I can see it for what it really is.

Flirt with me all you want while we're at work but at least let me believe that you are attracted to me for my brain/personality/professionalism/incredible organizational skills and not just my body.

What's that Sheryl Crow song? "Lie to me, I promise I'll believe..." I think I at least deserve that much.

End ridiculously long boy rant.

*Names and faces have been obscured to protect my paycheque.